


Don't Scream

by Program



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Grinding, Human!Deacon, Kidnapping, M/M, vampire!scud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1550978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Program/pseuds/Program
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bar, we had a lovely back and forth after I laced your drink," well at least he was fucking honest. The man pulled a hand back to scratch at an itch on his own neck. "Which is probably why you don't remember me, now that I think about it,"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Scream

**Author's Note:**

> more presents for my pet.
> 
>  
> 
> unbeta'd all mistakes are mine

Deacon woke with a groan; his head was killing him, hangover of his life and his limbs and back were painfully stiff.

He moved to rub his face with a hand but found he simply could not, which woke him up pretty damn fast. He blinked the pain away from his eyes and looked down to find out _why_ he couldn't move and frowned.

Right, he wasn't at home in bed, no of course he wouldn't be. At what point would his life ever be that convenient.

No, Deacon Frost was tied to a fucking chair in what looked like a basement. A really frightening basement; the walls were littered with shelves covered in tools he both knew the names of and had never even seen before, there was a workbench in the darkness to his right, piled with likely homemade gadgets that he couldn't make out in the dark besides a tv, which was switched on to only a static. His left was mostly blocked off, a curtain pulled across about ten feet from him. In front of him was shelves upon shelves of scraps and parts, and Deacon guessed the entrance was somewhere behind him. He could count at least two red dots flicking on and off slowly in the upper corners of the room; Security cameras. The static was ominous.

Fuck knows where he even was.

He was awake for a while, sitting there alone and quietly contemplating the night before, who he'd been with, what had happened, where he might be, and flinched when the wood of the stairs creaked with someones weight.

Slowly, very slowly, as if it was some scared dog approaching prey that was still kicking, but dying none-the-less. That mental image didn't make him feel any better.

He turned to look over his shoulder the best he could, seeing as his back was facing the stairs, but the best he could get a look of is an obscure silhouette due to the shit-poor lighting in the room. At least, this was the case until said perpetrator finally rounded into the light, keeping a wide berth as if he was afraid of spooking the man he had tied to a fucking chair in his basement.

All in all, the man wasn't at all what he'd expected. Deacon had expected some creep with a beer gut or some super skinny psycho or, hell, even a super hot babe. Well, a man could dream couldn't he? But no, this man(kid?) was definitely none of the above. He actually looked pretty average, like the kind of guy who _wouldn't_ have you tied up in his basement yet lo and behold, here they were.

The silence stretched on and Deacon rant out of things to contemplate, therefore noticing the fact that said kid was still standing at the edge of the circle of light, fidgeting with a joint of weed between the fingers of his left hand. He looked a bit unsteady, in fact.

Aw shit.

Deacon opened his mouth to speak just as the man stepped forward, tentative, still not unlike a cautious stray only with a more looming posture. 

He did not enjoy feeling like a rabbit in a fucking trap.

The man stopped just out of kicking range, his muscles relaxing after he'd measured the distance before he leaned back, tall and content like a lion as he brought the joint to his lips to inhale that little bit of magic. Deacon continued to stare, expecting his reason for being tied to a chair in this guys creepy ass basement to not be a very pleasant one.

The man's eyes drifted to the tv for a moment, as if this was some casual little date they were on and he thought he'd left the stove on or something. Fuck, Deacon wanted to hit him already.

"What," Frost bit out, patience short.

The man smiled. "You don't remember me," which only confused Deacon even more.

And then it just got worse.

The man killed the joint, pulling the last of the smoke between his lips before just casually flicking it off into the darkness where the ember slowly burned out in the shadows. Then he stepped forward, closer and closer until the kid was practically in his lap.

No, scratch that, he was, indeed, in Deacon's lap.

He sat on Frost's knees contently, knees on either side of his waist and arms draped over Deacon's shoulders. If he weren't tied to a fucking chair, this might actually be a pretty inviting offer. As it was... he was tied to a fucking chair which made the stranger's proximity incredibly unwelcome.

He attempted to lean away, but the man followed, using the motion to press his nose against Deacon's neck and inhale. Deacon flinch and try to lash out, but the man was fucking amazing at bondage knots apparently, because Deacon didn't budge an inch.

"No, I fucking don't. Do I win a prize? Get the fuck off me," he jerked again, trying to dislodge the kid. Didn't work, in fact this kid seemed leagues stronger than he looked. He wasn't without his muscles, but they were definitely only because he spent a lot of time working with all the machinery spread around the basement.

"Bar, we had a lovely back and forth after I laced your drink," well at least he was fucking honest. The man pulled a hand back to scratch at an itch on his own neck. "Which is probably why you don't remember me, now that I think about it,"

Deacon scowled. "Wow, you fucking think, moron?" he was getting pissed off by this kids apparent lack of fucks to give, attempting to lean away when that arm was once more draped over his shoulder.

"Of course, I've had to wait a while so the drug would flush out of your system. Shit tastes terrible in blood," and that had Deacon being a little more concerned for his wellbeing.

Blood? What the fuck? What was this, some kind of freak cannibal sitting in his fucking lap? Great.

"But it tastes even better when I do- this," and suddenly there was a hand traveling down his chest, fingers tripping against the buttons of his shirt but not undoing them. Nope, it seemed his creepy kidnapper had other plans. The man kept rather intimidating eye contact while his hand settled comfortably on Deacon's groin, petting Frost through his slacks reverently as if he were caressing a lover which didn't sit well with him at all but there wasn't much he could do about it what with being tied firmly to a chair. Fanfuckingtastic.

It didn't help that it actually felt pretty good, and to Frost's embarrassment, he was hard in no time despite trying to reign it in, and his cheeks were flushed with arousal.

The man smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to Deacon's cheek so that he jerked away from it, growling out his irritation. It didn't seem to detour the man as he pressed on, placing affectionate kisses along Frost's jaw and sucking on his ear before the sweet little kisses traveled back down to his neck, kisses turned into nibbles and nibbles turned into-

"Ow, fuck!" the fucker bit him! He could feel a trickle of blood traveling down into the dip of his collarbone, and the freak seemed to come to excited life at that moment. Deacon could feel the blood being pulled from his veins, and the freak on top of him was rolling his hips forward into Deacon's unwilling erection to grind his own against it, drawing purrs and mewls out of the man as he did not else but ride the pleasure and drink and it was just then that the word drifted into Deacons increasingly addled brain;

 _Vampire_. There was a fucking vampire on top of him vigorously grinding against him and draining his veins through two puncture wounds in his neck. Something else was off, who couldn't quite place it, but something felt wrong and invasive and it twisted through his swiftly emptying blood down into his heart.

His head dropped back against the chair, running out of the energy he needed to keep stiffly upright while the vampire drank his fill. His hips stuttered forward into the friction and Deacon, in his haze, tried to return the favor, but his limited mobility made it almost impossible, and it didnt seem to matter when the man's teeth pulled out of his neck and he all but held on while riding out what seemed to be one hell of an orgasm if Deacon could read right, save for his dizzied perception, whimpering into Frost's neck as he came down from his high.

After moments, the vampire was all but slumped against him, inhaling the scent of sex and blood in the air before he was sliding off of Deacon's lap and onto the floor between his legs to free Deacon's still aching erection from his slacks and trace is tongue up the length of it before taking it all the way down to the base in one glorious slide of tongue and lips so that Frost couldn't help the moan that spilled from what was suppose to be a tightly shut mouth. Oh well.

It took no time at all for the vampire to pull an orgasm out of him, shivering and twitching in his binds before he was a pliable mess tied to a stupid chair in a stupid basement in the house of a stupid fucking vampire. Hallelujah.

"Scud."

Deacon blinked drowzily, dropping dulled glacier white eyes to the vampire as he licked his lips and right himself onto his feet. What?

"My name is Scud," oh, a name. Deacon didn't feel like giving his, too tired.

Scud simply smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and made his way cheerfully up the basement stares, shutting the door behind him.

Damnit.

Deacon was getting hungry.


End file.
